This isn’t just an out, I’m actually about to call my mother once I’m sure she’s home. But I thought I’d give a little tribute to the lady of the day.
My mother is outright crazy. Not in a way that the DSM can categorize, but in a way that makes her more fun that almost anyone I know. She resolutely views the world in her own way and damn anyone else who tells her differently.
As her friend B- once astutely pointed out, my mother will follow the rules until she decides they’re stupid or pointless. And after that, she’ll just make up new ones as she goes. And honestly? Her rules will be better than the old ones, guaranteed.
My mother doesn’t give out affection freely–you have to earn her love and loyalty. But once you get it, she will love you hard and fierce and unendingly. This is a trait I seem to have picked up along the way.
My mother took care of all my friends when I was growing up, and gave them the sex talks they weren’t getting at home. More of my friends should have been pregnant in high school, and they weren’t.
My mother was awesome enough to blare The Offspring from her minivan and drive my friends and me to the French Quarter on a whim. She stuck with us, and we never got in trouble, but we had a good time. There was nothing better than my mother parking in the JAX parking lot, lifting the tailgate of the van, and blaring the Zephyr and punk rock. She would do the same thing and just drive us around town, blaring music, when we were bored. Everyone thought it was funny how much she turned up her bass in that van, because “Mom vans shouldn’t have bump.” But hers did and I thought it was great.
My mother taught me to love words and language and music. I remember her playing the piano almost every day from the green Readers Digest piano book and I still know all these old songs because of her. I even remember how the book started and her favorite order of songs . . . Ain’t She Sweet; Bye Bye Blackbird; Tea for Two; The Man I Love . . . When I started learning piano, the first thing I did was try to tackle that book. And the syncopation in “Jalousie” still gives me trouble (half-note triplets with one hand, quarter-note beats with the other).
My mother adores my girlfriend and took her in when she didn’t have anywhere to go. She helped her get out of a horrible situation and for that C is eternally grateful.
I’ve been getting a little weird at night–laughing more and giggling for no reason. Apparently I am genetically destined for my own version of C-time . . . stop! Sharon Time!! But I’m okay with that. If I have to develop some bizarre personality traits, these are pretty good ones to have. I will always be considered entertaining.
I love you, Mom. You are amazing and awesome and weird and quirky and crafty (in both senses of the word) and completely yourself. You have taught me how to be gracious and STILL not take any shit from anybody. I’m able to thrive in any situation because you taught me how. Thanks.